


W is for War

by WhiteTrashHozier



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dancing, Emotional Maturity Is For Suckers, First Kiss, GAY GAY GAY, Lupin Says What He Feels, M/M, Surprise It Is Sirius Black, Trenches are Metaphors For Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24917983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteTrashHozier/pseuds/WhiteTrashHozier
Summary: Intro: It was a simple request. This is longer than my usual, but it’s a pair I’m (amongst many others) acutely fond of. Sirius and Lupin were not given nearly enough justice by their original writer. I hope to give them both more hope and justice in the ways which I can.Obviously, we are in the world in which Black did not die. It is a couple years later, around when Harry and Ginny are engaged with their wedding on the horizon.There will be a second part to this eventually.The title of the piece is a harken back to ‘M is for Magic’ by Neil Gaiman, a collection of short stories, who in turn got that from a collection of short stories by one of his favorite authorsCW: death & war imagery
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Kudos: 6





	W is for War

“What’s going on?”

A man looks up with eyes flaming like Gabriel’s sword at the Garden Gate of Eden. Perhaps a touch damper than that, but no one has been close enough to the angel to really tell if they too cry with the look of half annoyance and half on the verge of something else entirely unrecorded by men. 

“I have to find it.”

The friend, very much confused as to what they have walked into, asks, “Find what?” Trapezes step by careful step over record sleeves that are scattered haphazardly around Sirius. 

“Their _song,_ Remus. Their damned song. I...” the air deflating quickly out of the man as he leans back onto his haunches though there are no balloons in sight. Tears begin to burn traitorously at the edges of his eyes as he angrily wipes them away with a sleeve. No need for those here if they aren’t going to be helpful in finding anything. “I found the record they played at their wedding…. that night...it just...needed some cleaning up...I kept it all these years” Gesturing to a plain gramophone on a hutch. “And now I can’t find it....I can’t...” Hands travel over these case-less records as if it’ll repair whatever is cracking. 

Their sleeves forgotten. 

Remus sinks to his aching knees, that have nothing to do with the cold or incoming storm front, to help. We’ve all felt them before, if you were to go pray right now you’ll feel it again even. 

Floorboards creak. The wind moans. Wordlessly they search to and fro for 15 minutes or so. Brows furrowed and more and more desperate as minutes tick on by. They search under couches. In old bookshelves. Found things in the curtains that bite. Sirius suckles at his injured thumb as he bashes in some crushed velvet with a ferocity usually reserved for fiercer adversaries than decorative throw pillows. 

Surprise of all surprises, as is usually the case when one is looking for anything that is lost, they find it resting in the back of the hutch the record player is on- where Sirius swears he had looked when he first began. It is untouched by time or hardship, dusty yet perfectly serviceable for their purposes. 

The hair of a dog-man happy cries while he rushes around like a little boy asking for Lupin to, “ _turn it on, turn it_ on” as he exuberantly throws open the curtains. His dear friend smiles as he puts on the pin. 

He looks 10 years younger and quite a bit more rakish as he puts out a hand. 

“Dance with me, Moony.

It’s something your grandparents danced to.That your parents scoffed at as children till they too followed in their steps.Do all love songs work this way? 

The bouncing around and stepping on toes and then hitting the slow songs. Spreading apart slowly like that new thing is fresh strawberry jam. Sticky and sweet and new and familiar. Sirius ignores the dry mouth that accompanies the closeness of his friend. He smells like cloves. 

Waving to the record player which has begun to play Lily & James’ first dance, he moves over with sudden interest to observe the fat droplets that have begun to hit the window pane.Leaving a couple meters between the men. Lupin’s fingers twitch like Padfoot has always been his phantom limb. Be a little more outrageous of an idea if Remus couldn’t feel the ache returning. This time isn’t wasn’t just in his knees , it spread out in a particularly prickly way outwards from his chest, as it began to rain. 

“I wanted to find it for Ginny and Harry’s wedding.” Sirius now grins back at Lupin who must nod away like a good friend does, “you think they’ll disown us if we recreate that night at Lily & James’s wedding? I don’t remember anything past you getting me outta James’ dear Aunt Barges’ claws.”Catching sight of his friend's expression that looks less than affable, the bark of a laugh dies in his throat. The silence becomes damning. 

“You alright, Moony?” 

Exasperation like he has never heard before from that mouth. Sounds like disappointment, but not the kind for putting his hand into the tin before supper or about his tastes in sock-wear. Something burns brightly in those eyes that look back at him. “Why must you always do that?”

Confusion clouds his face as he watches the werewolf stride over to the gramophone. “Do wha-”

“Do not dare insult me Sirius John Black-” as he raises the pin off the record the music dramatically stops. As he yanks it off, Sirius yells. 

“REMUS DON’T-.” 

The man pauses to look at Sirius. Just looks for an undetermined amount of time enough to make his friend’s skin crawl with apprehension. He grabs the sleeve and gently slides it back in, “Do you trust me so little, Black?” 

That stings. “I….we just found it didn’t….” There are no excuses, none that matter, that the last time he had trust it’d died in a place called Godric’s Hollow. He had been running like hell was on his heel ever since. 

Boys don’t come home from war; the men do. But even the trenches had radios. 

Remus becomes as intrigued by the rain as Black had been earlier. Record still in hand, the grey slate a metaphor. Dull ticking of a clock a reminder about things lately borrowed. The room breathes as Lupin regains a composure he is most known for. As his thoughts start collecting again in an orderly manner, he speaks without reserve though it lacks heart, “I waited for you to not be dead.You were all that was left out of all we had lost. And I thought I loved you because you came back when no one else could. But that’s not true- ” 

There are tears in those eyes, “I’m lonely too.” 

There’s the ugly thing now like a croaking frog that leapt out of his mouth. “What was I before the moon? Before the war?” There is no time to explain. 

“I don’t know.” 

The Irish trip into their graves. 

Do the English dance into them? 

The man looks down at the piece of memorabilia. 

“I miss them.” Then he rests it down back on the hutch like a babe laid to rest peacefully. Harry will one day play it for his child .This hope is like poppies as his hand rubs mindlessly at his chest where his heart should be if he hadn’t vomited it onto the carpet already at Black’s feet but a moment prior. “But I would miss you more now for knowing you.” Sirius’ tongue is mud. Thick and useless, unlike the strawberry jam sensation earlier it has an iron tang that is fast to fill the mouth.Can’t breathe for all the space in Grimmauld Place the lot of them. They’ve forgotten how.

There’s ringing in Black’s ears, his skin buzzes the same as whatever lives in the curtains, and Azkaban rattles in his chest like somebody is about to kiss him. 

“Why do you always do that?”

“What?”

There is no memory of how Sirius got across the room so fast. 

“Wait for me” 

That kiss hurts. The second less so. The teeth clicking in unfamiliarity does much to make the library once more into a sanctuary, as they both come up air grinning and laughing like the fools they are. Not quite yet sure how to proceed, Sirius for once in his well endowed life discovers himself nervous at the foot of a lover. 

We- and Lupin- shall call that poetic justice. 

Pushing a lock of hair behind Black’s ear who has yet to come to terms with having butterflies at his age. Do they need cages? Can they live off fish and chips? “What is it?” Remus asked a crease furrowing his brow. 

“Oh I was just wondering if butterfli-” he waves a hand, “-nevermind. We need suits, you know?”

Remus’ eyes glitter in good humor, “Oh do we now?” 

“Of course for my Godson’s wedding. Unless you are telling me you’ve retained your boyish..form all these years?” The look goes to Remus’ gut. It is one he has seen half a dozen times….at other women...at other men. Sirius adjusts a lapel that need not be adjusted in his personal opinion. “I’m afraid it has seen better days.” Lupin tries to half-joke, not thinking about scars, fresh and not, underneath. “What about yourself-” He pretends to look around Black, “where do you hide all those pints?” 

Scandalized and incredulous Sirius exclaims hand on chest, “I’m _offended._ They went straight to my fine derriere. Thank you kindly, Professor.” 

An eyeroll most impeccable which had been under reservation for Sirus John Black since they’d been 11 he stated plainly, “Moony, you know I don’t teach anymore…”

Padfoot wouldn’t let Moony get away with anything, “I’m sure you could teach this old dog a few new tricks.” 

The wink; His friend was back. The taste of him in his mouth still new he watched as Sirius went to snatch a jacket off the back of a chair. “Come on, luv.”

So he followed after. 


End file.
